


What Stays In Vegas

by jakalboy



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: M/M, emotional breakdowns, implied frenrey - Freeform, named after "what stays in vegas..." by tumblr user @w1tchysounds, pre-wedding, thank you for your service, toon hlvrai, which i listened to on loop while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakalboy/pseuds/jakalboy
Summary: By all accounts, today should have been the happiest day in Gordon’s life, and he was spending it sobbing his eyes out on the floor of a dirty saloon room in his wedding dress.[takes place in @toonhlvrai on tumblr during season two in the part where everything goes wrong]
Relationships: Dr. Coomer & Gordon Freeman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	What Stays In Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> So toonhlvrai ripped my heart out and stomped on it the other day and even though we've got some good things since this has been stuck in my head so I fuckin wrote it. Intended to take place between the end of the Uno game and Gordon's first appearance in his wedding dress.

Today, by all accounts, should have been the happiest day in Gordon’s life. He was deeply in love; he had proposed and been proposed to in return; he was getting married. His son was out there, ready with a ring to put on his fiancee’s finger, his father figure was there ready to wed him. Really, he wished that more of the people he loved could have been there, but thinking about that only made him sob harder.

Yes- by all accounts, today should have been the happiest day in Gordon’s life, and he was spending it sobbing his eyes out on the floor of a dirty saloon room in his wedding dress. 

In a way he felt rather detached from the whole thing, like it was happening to another person. It was hard not to feel like the world was horribly unreal, with the darkness outside and the stark purple light, the cartoonish recreation of the wild west, and a shotgun wedding. _It will have happened to another person soon_ , Gordon thought vaguely, and his sobs turned hysterical. What would it feel like? Was it dying? Was he dying? Because it felt like it, the way he could barely choke down a single breath before it came heaving out in a strangled scream, the way his lungs burned and his throat crawled and he couldn’t stand if he tried as he attempted to pull on his pretty white (dust-stained) gloves with violently trembling hands. He could barely keep himself steady enough to begin to get his hand in, and something in that was hilarious. He was just glad that the room they had rented didn’t have a mirror, because he could picture easily what he looked like- a blubbering mess shaking like a child, face dark and blotchy and so far gone makeup couldn’t help if it would stay on, eyes red and swollen, dress and gloves and veil ruined with dirt, the hair he couldn’t tie tup properly falling all over his face, hunched over and holding on to himself for dear life- it would’ve just made him cry harder, somehow. He was keeping everyone waiting, he was wasting time, every second ticking away alone was a second he couldn’t afford to waste-

A gentle knock sounded on the door, so careful that it had Gordon freezing up, trying to draw in the breath to defend himself until he saw Coomer, peeking in sadly. 

“Hello, Gordon,” he said, as if approaching a grieving child. In a way, he wasn’t wrong. 

Gordon sucked in a breath, tried to force his throat to work, but all he could say in response was a pathetic, needy groan. 

Coomer didn’t need more prompting. He closed the door carefully, quietly behind him and kneeled at Gordon’s side, putting an arm around him. “There, there, Gordon,” he murmured, and wiped at Gordon’s eyes with a sleeve. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

Gordon laughed. It was short, violent, felt like a sob, and likely sounded like one too, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “I wish,” he croaked, closing his eyes and leaning into Coomer’s touch. 

Coomer didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t need to. “Would you like some help?” He offered, and didn’t bring up even a single playcoin. Gordon sniffed, loud and ugly, and nodded. Fuck, yes, he needed help, he wouldn’t be able to get off this fucking floor without someone else there. Coomer simply nodded and got to work even as Gordon cried, carefully rolling his gloves up his arm, pulling his hair back into a bun with steady hands, fastening the collar around his neck with a tenderness Gordon wasn’t accustomed to seeing from any member of their team, much less Coomer. It was unnerving. It was everything. Coomer brushed off Gordon’s veil with useless determination before situating it into Gordon’s hair. He leaned back, brought a hand to his chin, and nodded. “There we are. You’re perfect, Gordon.”

“No I’m not.” Gordon tried to smile, but it strained and stretched on his face unnaturally. “Thanks anyway.”

Coomer puffed out his chest and crossed his arms in a shadow of his usual bravado. “Nonsense! What makes you say something like that?”

Gordon snorted, then sniffled. “Uh, my face? I can’t stop-” he laughed weakly and wiped at his face. “I can’t stop crying.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

That startled the sobs into stillness for a moment. “Everything, Dr. Coomer. It’s- it’s my wedding day, and I want to spend the last time we have fucking enjoying it, with each other, and making these memories good, but I just- I can’t stop crying.” Gordon hunched in on himself once more, struggling in vein to keep his lungs from heaving once more. He would wipe his face, but that would ruin the gloves. They were already tainted enough with the dust. So much dust.

Coomer settled his hands lightly over where Gordon’s were balling into the skirt of his dress. “You don’t have to put on a strong face, you know,” he said. “I doubt there will be a single dry eye in the building. You don’t have to pretend it’s alright.”

“You seem pretty okay.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not!” Coomer grinned brightly. “But, well, I’ve dealt with a feeling quite similar before. Pretending it’s not there… it won’t help, Gordon. If you’re sad, and full of dread, if you’re around the people you love at least you can be sad together. It’s comforting, Gordon. Sometimes love is, well… sadness and comfort.”

“...I don’t want to forget,” Gordon whispered. “I don’t want to die. I want to, to grow old with Benrey and raise Joshua and- fuck, I just want to be happy. But we won’t get that. We don’t even know what’ll happen to us, or if we’ll even be us once this is all over. And I hate that I can’t even _know.”_

Coomer said nothing- because, really, what was there to say? He just reached up to lay a hand on Gordon’s cheek, then pulled him into a hug. Gordon collapsed into it and held on as long as Coomer would let him, until his violent shaking was reduced to shivers and he could breathe through the tears and something in him felt warm again.

“I’m sorry I failed,” he said.

“You didn’t,” said Coomer.

With that, Coomer stood and pulled Gordon to his feet. “Now, off the floor with you! Between you and me, I heard that dress cost a fortune, and it wouldn’t do to ruin it!”

Gordon snorted. “I think we’re well past that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Coomer smiled and held his elbow out to Gordon. There had been no plans to walk him down the aisle, but, well, Gordon’s legs felt weak and still trembled like a newborn deer’s, so he looped his arm around Coomer’s and smiled back in thanks. If he was going to die, ego or soul or body or mind, Gordon was going to die surrounded by his family with a ring on his finger and a kiss on his lips. And maybe, said a weak ember of hope sheltered deep inside of his heart, maybe it would be enough to lead them back to one another after the final day ended.


End file.
